


back to the wall, hands on your face

by Togaki



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, SunaSaku kabedon, crackfic, lightly Wotakoi-inspired, long-suffering boyfriends, low-key fudanshi Atsumu, or it should have been, supportive boyfriends, we are all simps for Suna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Togaki/pseuds/Togaki
Summary: “This is so weird,” Suna murmurs, lashes fluttering prettily. His breath brushes Kiyoomi’s chin as he leans against the wing spiker, hands splayed on both sides of Kiyoomi’s face against the wall, and knee knocked between Kiyoomi’s legs.“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says, white lie on his tongue.Or what happens when your boyfriends decide to pair you two together.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 19
Kudos: 248





	back to the wall, hands on your face

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [post](https://twitter.com/onigiriisamu/status/1334126495015399427)

Kiyoomi has long since given up on the idea of a “normal” relationship. Once he started dating Atsumu, the concept of normality went flying out the door, boarded the first FedEx truck it could find, and probably landed on an island somewhere between Madagascar and Antarctica. Because any “normal” boyfriend would be angry at the thought of him pinning someone else to the wall, lips dangerously close and knee nudged between the other’s incriminatingly spread thighs. And any “normal” boyfriend would be Hulk-tossing any man who’d dare to flip the roles and slam  _ Kiyoomi _ to the wall. 

Except he and Atsumu aren’t normal. 

They’ve never been normal. Not since he learned that Atsumu enjoyed peanut butter on day-old cold pizza, or since he learned that the man wears the same sweats to bed seven nights a week before finally washing them— _ that _ had nearly been a deal breaker—or  _ especially _ since he learned about Atsumu’s weakness to certain… scenes. 

But perhaps this is some kind of message sent from the gods—that maybe Kiyoomi should think about the state of their unusual relationship, and that maybe there are plenty of other more manageable and less bratty men out there. 

Men like the beautiful statue in front of him. 

“This is  _ so _ weird,” Suna murmurs, lashes fluttering prettily. His breath brushes Kiyoomi’s chin as he leans against the wing spiker, hands splayed on both sides of Kiyoomi’s face against the wall, and knee knocked between Kiyoomi’s legs. 

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says, white lie on his tongue. 

The two have never had any particularly meaningful interactions. A few tidbits of gossip here, a few bullying remarks toward Atsumu as they gang up on him there—fun, but nothing meaningful. Though they have swapped Animal Crossing IDs in passing. 

But now he wishes he’d gotten around to getting up close and personal with Suna earlier, especially given how mesmerizing his peridot eyes are. He could swim in them. 

The flitter of camera shutters beat around them. 

“ _ Geh _ ! Stop looking so  _ dead _ , Sunarin!”

“Don’t listen to that dummy. Yer doing great, honey!”

_ Right _ , Kiyoomi thinks with a groan. The only thing keeping him from throwing himself onto the lethargic man like a jizzed-out fangirl is the fact that, one, they have an audience, and two, that audience includes one idiot boyfriend who’d probably whine him to death if Kiyoomi ever kissed another man. And if that man happens to be the boyfriend of  _ Kiyoomi’s  _ boyfriend’s twin brother, then Atsumu’s pride would shrivel up before Kiyoomi’s dignity would. 

Oh, the struggle. 

Suna leans in closer, which is already near impossible given how close the man’s face already is to Kiyoomi’s, and whispers, “Twenty bucks says they’ll want to take pictures of us in bed later.”

Kiyoomi bites down a huff. “Whose bed?”

Suna shrugs. “Their mom’s house is just across the river. It’s still got their twin bunks.” 

He shivers. 

How scandalous. Yet, the thought doesn’t disturb Kiyoomi as much as he would expect. 

They’re standing in Onigiri Miya, after hours, and after the last employee has taken off for the night, and while one part of Kiyoomi seriously questions how they ended up here, another part of him just amounts it to:  _ It’s the Miya twins. _

Osamu had begun the conversation by opening with how pretty Suna is in Onigiri Miya’s new apron, which Atsumu then felt the competitive need to parry with how pretty Kiyoomi is wearing nothing but his sweatshirt, which then devolved into a slaughterfest of who’s prettier  _ period _ . Meanwhile, Kiyoomi had slowly nibbled on umeboshi, paying no heed to his boyfriend’s idiotic argument. Still, he probably should have paid at least a  _ bit _ of attention, because as soon as Suna had come back from the toilet, hands still wet and dripping, both twins were ganging up on him, twisting his arm into position. Then Kiyoomi had looked up, seen the predatory glint of Atsumu’s eyes, his beckoning finger, and Kiyoomi knew there was no way out. 

“This is stupid,” mutters Suna. 

“Then why are you here?” Kiyoomi asks. 

“Because if I don’t do this, ‘Samu won’t wear his collar for at least a week.” 

Oh. 

Again, learning of Suna and Osamu’s private affairs behind closed doors should distress him, yet Kiyoomi can’t help but ponder...

_ Okay, _ he thinks, pinching his brows. This is inching toward danger-territory. 

“Atsumu, I’m done.” 

“ _ Wha _ —” Atsumu gasps, head leaping up from behind the tiny glass window of his camera. “Wait, Omi, stay a little longer!”

“No,” Kiyoomi says. And as he pushes off the wall—graciously, Suna steps back—he feels a slight sigh at the fact he no longer has indefinite access to those sinful green eyes. 

Goosebumps run down his arm.

Okay, yep. Time to skip town. He’s not an adulterer. (Though wouldn’t that be nice.)

“But  _ Omiiii _ —”

“No.”

As he’s picking up his jacket, he hears bits and pieces of Osamu and Suna’s conversation: 

“These turned out good, huh?” Osamu says, showing Suna his camera.

Suna’s nose is close to brushing Osamu’s hair as he looks over Osamu’s shoulder. “Please tell me this isn’t one of your guys’ creepy fetishes.”

“Definitely ‘Tsumu’s. He was all like,  _ If they’re both so pretty, why not put them together _ ? Then ya walked out, and I figured, why not?” 

“Gross. You think I’m pretty?”

A big fat, squelching kiss. 

“Pretty damn irresistible. Look, even Sakusa couldn’t take his eyes off ya.” And Osamu then proceeds to show the 50+ pieces of blackmail Kiyoomi will never live down. 

Ignoring how their unspoken UN peace treaty just got shredded like cheese, Kiyoomi grunts and steps out of the shop, a faint “come back soon” followed by “or never” trailing him out the door. 

He walks swiftly along the darklit streets of Osaka, breathing in the humid chill of summer, and as he slows down near the lamppost not fifteen meters away from Osamu’s shop, he hears the familiar light steps of Atsumu. 

He waits for Atsumu to catch up before resuming at a leisurely pace. Together, they head back to their shared apartment.

“Ya know,” Atsumu starts, and his voice is gruff, like he’s trying hard not to spill his emotions even though that’s precisely what he does when he gets like this. 

Kiyoomi sighs inwardly.  _ Here it comes _ . The whole,  _ Why couldn’t ya have stayed still longer, ya hardass,  _ or the classic  _ Would it kill ya to just love me a bit more, now shut up and stand there pretty _ ! 

Except it’s none of that. 

What Atsumu does say is this: “I wouldn’t blame ya if ya did, ya know.”

He stumbles to a halt.

“What.”

“If ya wanted to kiss Sunarin,” Atsumu says. He’s trying not to pout. Oh god, his boyfriend is sulking. “I get it, he’s  _ cute _ .”

“Atsumu. What the fuck.” 

He must have heard Suna and Osamu’s conversation. Must have felt sorry for himself after that. 

“No, I get it, I get it,” Atsumu says, waving his hands through the pockets of his jacket. “Ya probably liked his whole ‘aura.’ Like, he’s mysterious, then ya find out he’s just a salty bitch, and I guess that’s a turn-on, too, and he’s probably closer to what ya would like anyway, but—”

“Atsumu. You  _ literally _ paired me up with him,” Kiyoomi sighs, long and suffering. 

This is just like that time Atsumu dared Kiyoomi to make friends, and once Kiyoomi got around to chatting with a  _ very nice  _ and  _ very gay _ girl at the bar, Atsumu had started pouting and pushing Kiyoomi onto her as if two opposite gays wouldn’t repel each other. 

Atsumu shrugs. “Cause I thought it’d be funny. I didn’t think ‘Samu would actually let us do it. He’s like  _ scary possessive _ with Suna.”

Once again, the more Kiyoomi knows, the more his imagination starts kicking into overdrive, and what he needs to do is pull back and  _ yank _ on the brakes. 

Kiyoomi sighs. “You idiot, I’m dating  _ you _ .”

“So?”

Fuck this dense man. 

It’s a struggle to not grit his teeth together, but he manages. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Oh,” Atsumu says, almost childishly. He blinks quickly, and his brows are furrowed together. It’s almost like Atsumu can think of every possibility  _ except _ the one where he stays in the picture. “But ya  _ would _ kiss Suna. Don’t say ya wouldn’t.”

Kiyoomi groans, because yes, yes he would, but no, no he wouldn’t. As much as he hates to admit it, he would never do that to Atsumu. 

Not that Atsumu would believe him anyway. So he just chooses a non-answer. 

“What are you planning on doing with all those photos?” 

They start walking again. 

“Hmm, I guess I could sell them. Fans would  _ love _ that. I know I do. Or, ya know this is a good opportunity to test out the waterworks for one of those TV specials they invite us on. Maybe we could pitch you and Suna.”

“For crying out loud, Atsumu, weren’t you  _ just _ scared I might leave you?” 

“Then just don’t leave me!” Atsumu shouts as if the answer is obvious. Then, without warning, Atsumu softens, turns shy, grows red, and  _ this _ is where his true nature prevails. “‘Sides, it’s a waste since ya guys looked hot together.” 

His boyfriend is a pervert. His boyfriend is a huge fucking closet pervert. Don’t think those trashy BL mangas escape Kiyoomi when they live in the same fucking apartment. He remembers last year’s anicon, the harrowing experience that it was. 

Kiyoomi turns on his heel. He walks back to Onigiri Miya. This is what Atsumu wants, so this is what he gets. Go on and picture Kiyoomi with other men all he likes, he’ll just turn it into a reality. 

“Wait, wait! I’m sorry! I was just joking!”

“ _ Were you really? _ ”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

Kiyoomi doesn’t believe Atsumu, but he lets his boyfriend tow him away from the restaurant like it’s the underworld regardless. 

Softly, as they’re linked arm in arm, Atsumu whispers, “Ya know it’s not that I’m jealous of Suna, right?”

“I know.” 

Kiyoomi’s not  _ quite _ as stupid as Atsumu, much as his cousin likes to torture him about that fact. He at least has a college diploma to display any negligible worth over the setter. 

“Cause, like, there’s nothing to be jealous over,” Atsumu says, scrunching his nose. “Except maybe his nice eyes, his flawless skin—not his shitty hair, definitely not that—or maybe if ya decided ya liked him more than me, and maybe, just maybe, his really nice, long fingers—”

“ _ Jesus Christ _ , Atsumu!” 

“ _ What _ !”

Kiyoomi lets go of Atsumu’s arm and smushes his cheeks between his two large hands. 

The light dances in Atsumu’s warm, honey eyes, and Kiyoomi feels the need to hide them away forever, only for him. 

“I won’t ever like him more! I only like you. Now get that through your thick fucking skull, or I swear I’m never doing anything embarrassing for you again!”

Atsumu blinks up at him. He curls his hand around where Kiyoomi has his own resting on Atsumu’s cheek. “Oh.” His cheeks bloom red. “Oh, uh, okay. Wow.”

Leaning in, Kiyoomi presses a soft kiss to Atsumu’s forehead. He whispers, “I know it’s hard for you not to be stupid—”

“Offensive, ouch.”

“—but comprehend at least this much. I like you, Atsumu. I’m not going to leave you. Especially not for your brother’s boyfriend, who again,  _ you _ paired me up with for whatever gross BL fetish you have.”

Atsumu melts. He wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist, tugging him close. Burying his head in the nook between Sakusa’s shoulder and neck, Atsumu murmurs, “It’s not gross, ya killjoy. It’s art.” 

But Kiyoomi doesn’t make an effort to retort, and Atsumu doesn’t even try to defend his baseless claim. Instead, they savor the moment for all its worth, wrapped up in each other’s warm embrace. 

There are certainly a lot more manageable and less bratty people out there—hell, in another world, maybe Kiyoomi  _ would _ have gone for Suna—but he’s living here, right now, in the present, and there’s no place he’d rather be than in Atsumu’s arms, soaking in the sweet squeeze for as long as he’ll let him. Because if there’s one thing he’s certain of, if there’s one fucked-up statement he will stand by to hell and back, it’s that he loves him, and that’s one thing that will never change. 

“So…” Atsumu says, after a while. Kiyoomi just hums into the soft tresses of his blond hair, blind to the betrayal about to come. “Ya said embarrassing right?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes fly open. He groans. The moment recoils back into a dark, dark hole. 

“Oh god.”

“Does that mean ya’d be up for another photo session with Suna?”

He lets go immediately. He’s not even remorseful when Atsumu suddenly trips forward because Kiyoomi had been the one to anchor him down. Fuck, he’s going to have to disinfect his entire body afterward, because he feels downright  _ nasty _ . 

But, of course, Atsumu barrels through, either unaware or unfazed by Kiyoomi’s misery, and his eyes are alight with zealous passion. “Cause I’ve got some ideas, and I could call up my mom, and we could set up a time to—”

“ _ Oh, fuck off, Miya _ !”

He changes his mind. He turns around. Maybe Osamu and Suna wouldn’t mind a third man. 

**Author's Note:**

> Atsumu has totally kissed Suna before. As an experiment. Osamu punched him. (It was well deserved.)


End file.
